


all the time in the world

by redstrings



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, I Love You, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Short & Sweet, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, a day will come wherein i will not write fluff for my favorite ships, today is not that day, yes they say those words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-16 22:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16504067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redstrings/pseuds/redstrings
Summary: For all the extensive vocabulary in various languages that Neil Josten has at his disposal, he seems to have a hard time finding the perfect words to describe Andrew Minyard.That’s new, one would think. One of the most famous Exy strikers to date, with his infamous loud mouth and reputation for instigating conflict on live television every opportunity he gets, is at a loss for words. It can even seem metaphorical, poetic if you look hard enough.





	all the time in the world

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello I'm back!! I've been suffering from a huge writer's block, and since a little over 2 months ago I read the aftg trilogy (and am still absolutely hooked to this day), what's a better way to try and ease the block than writing my favorite boys?
> 
> Also, it's already November 4 where I live so HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE TWINYARDS!! I hope Andrew and Aaron both get lots of love and kisses from their partners ♡

For all the extensive vocabulary in various languages that Neil Josten has at his disposal, he seems to have a hard time finding the perfect words to describe Andrew Minyard.

He already told Andrew that he was amazing (even though the circumstances surrounding his utterance of the word weren’t that ideal), but Neil still felt an itch in his gut, as though that word still can’t quite cover the entirety of what he thinks about the man and their relationship. He thought of the rooftops they’ve been to, of long drives with no particular destination in mind, of whispered _yes or no_ ’s, of cigarettes and ice cream and keys and kisses, trying to name that wrenching, body-warming feeling he gets every single time anything Andrew-related happens…

…and his mind came up blank.

That’s new, one would think. One of the most famous Exy strikers to date, with his infamous loud mouth and reputation for instigating conflict on live television every opportunity he gets, is at a loss for words. It can even seem metaphorical, poetic if you look hard enough.

Neil sighs, getting up from their couch and trudging to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and hopefully be able to sort out his mind before going back to the essay he needed to finish. It’s due in two days, but for obvious reasons, he can’t bring himself to focus. He empties the glass in a few big gulps, and goes back to his spot on the couch, back against one of the armrests and his laptop perched on his lap. All thoughts concerning a certain five-foot blond goalkeeper are put on hold as he continues to type.

And just when he is actually making progress and about halfway through, said five-foot blond goalkeeper enters the dorm.

Neil looks up, gaze following Andrew as he restocks the kitchen with new bags of food and—surprise, surprise—the freezer with new tubs of ice cream, which will surely cause yet another scolding from Kevin.

“He’s gonna flip. Again,” Neil says in greeting. Andrew’s eyes flicker to him, and Neil grins in return. The blond huffs, turning back to the remaining bags he has to put away.

“Then let him. There’s no way I’m allowing him to buy the groceries and have us end up with an ungodly amount of lettuce or other healthy shit like that.”

“Lettuce? Really? And look who’s talking about ungodly amounts of food,” Neil replies, pointedly looking at the freezer, which the other man then shuts. “Quite some bold words, Andrew.”

“I’m giving you five seconds to shut up, Josten.” Then Andrew goes and actually counts down, and Neil lets out a low chuckle. He mimes zipping his mouth, and the other raises an eyebrow. “If only we could literally do that to you whenever you face the press.”

Neil rolls his eyes with a small smile and lets Andrew finish fixing the kitchen, facing his laptop once more and rereading the last paragraph he wrote. He hears soft footsteps come closer, and Andrew sits himself across from Neil, assuming the same position with his back against the other armrest. Their eyes meet again, and a comfortable silence blankets the room.

The striker studies Andrew’s profile and he still marvels at how, even after so many times of doing it, he always finds something new, something that makes _that_ feeling tug harder at his insides. He still can’t place it, doesn’t know where to start in finding the most appropriate noun for something that seems too great to be named.

Andrew breaks the quiet with his usual deadpan of—“Staring.”

Neil notes, with a sense of satisfaction, that while he was indeed staring, Andrew never really tore his gaze off of Neil either. “So were you.”

“I thought you zipped your mouth shut.”

“You of all people should know it can’t stay shut for long.”

“If it can even be shut in the first place.”

“Oh, it can. You would know how.”

Andrew narrows his eyes. “What are you trying to say, Josten?”

Neil shrugs, but his slight smirk contradicts the innocent like gesture. “I’m sure you already figured it out. Yes or no, Andrew?”

For a fraction of a second, the corner of Andrew’s mouth quirks upward, mirroring the striker’s smirk. “I’m not kissing you until you finish what you’re doing.”

“What, this essay? But I can finish it tomorrow,” Neil tries to counter, but Andrew is already standing up, first heading to the kitchen to grab one of the tubs he bought, then going back to the living room to turn on the television. He glares at the blinking cursor, wonders why essays had to exist, and finally sighs and continues writing. The fact that the volume of the TV is conveniently lower than usual so he can concentrate did not go unnoticed, though, and Neil tries and subsequently fails to hide a smile. He could get used to this; the light banter, comfortable silences…it all seems so serene and _peaceful_ , and God knows that’s just exactly what they need after everything. Peace.

Neil didn’t think he’d live long enough to experience this, but now here he is, spending an afternoon with Andrew, the only things that can be heard being the dialogues and sound effects from the TV, and the occasional soft clacking sound as Neil types out a new sentence. At one point he looks up again, and his breath almost hitches at what he sees.

It shouldn’t be possible for Andrew to look good in sweatpants and a hoodie that was most likely Neil’s, remote in one hand as he goes through various channels, the other holding the ice cream tub, with the spoon hanging out of his mouth and the usual bored, impassive look on his face. But somehow he does, and once again Neil is at a loss.

There’s that tug again, harder this time. He can feel it on the tip of his tongue, can feel the word struggling to get out and be said, but he doesn’t know what it is, and it frustrates him.

Would it be silly or foolish if he decides to look it up? Forget the essay, now Neil is just tempted to pull up the browser and type _what do you call it when you look at someone and you are so overwhelmed you think your guts will implode or combust_.

He thinks back to certain aspects of the goalkeeper—Andrew’s grip, always firm and grounding; Andrew’s snappy remarks that have no heat to them at all and actually mean the opposite; the rare times that Andrew lets himself express what he feels in gentle, affectionate ways that no one thought he was capable of; the sides of him that only Neil gets to see.

He wants his relationship with Andrew—their _this_ —to last so much it physically pains him sometimes, wants to stay as long as Andrew would let him, because he enjoys this, he loves it.

And… _there it is_.

He loves this. He loves him. He loves—is _in love with_ —Andrew.

To be honest, Neil thought that when he finally figures out the word, it would be a shocking type of revelation, similar to the ones he often sees in the movies the upperclassmen make him watch. But reaching the conclusion that this feeling is love doesn't seem like some big eureka moment. It's calming and satisfying, like a final puzzle piece falling into place, like you're officially acknowledging and confirming something that you feel like you have always known. Like all things with Andrew, it just felt _right_.

Deep inside, he knew he had always loved the other man, ever since after Baltimore or maybe even before then. Maybe the reason why it took Neil a while to fully realize that this was actually love was because he was too busy being on the run and watching his and his mother's backs to even think about these types of things. Not to mention his mother always warned him against it, always told him not to trust anyone but her. And he wasn’t exactly in the position to derive any meaning of love from his parents' relationship, now was he? So he grew up not knowing much about it and how to know if that was what he was feeling. It changed, however, once he arrived at Palmetto. Once he met the Foxes and Andrew.

He should probably tell him. They weren’t like any other couple; they usually don’t need to explicitly say things like this. Their touches, gestures, and silent agreements and promises were already more than enough. But some part of Neil insists on saying the words out loud, just so it’s really out there. So that both of them, especially Andrew, would know that _this is it_.

“Neil. Neil!”

He blinks and looks around, surprised to find the TV off and Andrew looking straight at him. Apparently he had spaced out. “What's up with you?”

“Nothing, it's just...” Neil runs a hand through his hair, the other hand closing the laptop and setting it on the table near the couch. Here goes nothing, he thinks. “I've spent so many years running and being wary that sometimes I still can't believe that I managed to find a family as supportive and amazing as this team. And usually when I'm this overwhelmed, I get the urge to run again, to get away because I'm scared of messing things up and end up hurting any of you.” _More than I already had_ , is the unspoken continuation.

“Josten, what the fuck is this about—”

“But I'm not going to run, Andrew. Not anymore. I made a promise to you, so I'm here, and I'm staying...and I love you.”

Andrew doesn’t react for a while, and Neil thinks that that’s okay. Whatever his response, if there will be any, Neil would accept it. He’s never asked for more than what Andrew was willing to give, and that’s not going to change.

“Shut up,” is what Andrew answers, and while most people would probably be offended at that reply, Neil just smiles. He’s heard Andrew’s phrases long enough to understand the deeper meaning behind those words.

“I’m not gonna say anything else. I just wanted to let that out.”

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

“And why not?”

“Because you’re going to regret it.”

“I don’t regret saying it, and I won’t ever regret saying it. I can even say it for as many times as you want me to.”

“How about zero times?”

Neil shrugs. “Then I won’t say it again, if that’s what you’re comfortable with. I just wanted you to know this one time.”

Andrew stabs at the partially melted ice cream with his spoon, and Neil thinks that that signals the end of the conversation. He reaches towards the table to get the laptop, but before he could grab it, Andrew speaks again.

“I love you.”

Neil freezes, and he turns back to see Andrew still staring intently at his ice cream, but the furrow of his brows that wasn’t there before meant that what Neil heard was real and wasn’t just a figment of his imagination or his mind trying to play tricks on him. Andrew really did say it back, he admitted that he loves Neil just as much as Neil loves him.

There’s a full out grin on the striker’s face now, and Andrew leans forward and digs his index finger in Neil’s cheek, turning his face sideways. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Kind of hard not to, considering what you just said.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Mhm,” Neil hums, still grinning. Andrew removes his finger against the other’s cheek, only to use it to grip Neil’s chin along with his thumb and tilt his head towards Andrew’s own. After a quick “yes or no”, the blond shuts him up with a kiss.

The kiss is gentle and languid, and although Neil enjoys their intense and heated kisses, this feels more intimate and affectionate, the perfect way to express the feelings they had just admitted to each other. Neil feels the familiar melting of his body and relaxes against Andrew.

“Anywhere above the hips,” Andrew murmurs against his lips, and Neil complies with enthusiasm. His hands make their way up Andrew’s torso and rest on his neck while Andrew’s hands settle on his waist. They stay like that for a while, kissing as if they have all the time in the world.

(And with no threats and dangers hovering over them, Neil thinks that maybe they do.)

**Author's Note:**

> Nora: andrew and neil don't say i love you  
> Me:  
> Me: y'all hear sumn
> 
> I apologize for any inconsistencies or if I didn't portray their characters well enough; it's my first aftg fic after all, and like I said, this is just me trying to get over a block. I hope y'all enjoyed this, though!!


End file.
